All In
by CrimsonClarity
Summary: Nothing worth having comes without risks. It just took them longer than most to realize which ones were worth taking. YuBo, multi-chapter. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

Title: All In

Association: Beyblade

Pairing: Bryan/Tala, TalBry, YuBo, etc.

Short Summary: Nothing worth having comes without risks. It just took them longer than most to realize which ones were worth taking. YuBo, multi-chapter.

Full Summary: A simple game of poker between old friends invokes some long-suppressed and unexplored tendencies on the behalf of two highly competitive Russians. Now years later, after having lost the opportunity once before, will one of them finally be able to stake their claim on a bet?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hello again, dearies. Sorry about the absence; moving tends to be a real bitch sometimes. Hopefully this will make up for it.

First off, before I ever let my beta touch this document, it was already at 26 pages. I wrote the first chapter, a little over 13 pages, of this in two days, the rest of which was written in the week that followed. I have another chapter already prepared to post, but I've decided to hold off a bit and give people a few days to discover the story. As for a third chapter? I have plans for it, but I wasn't going to start it until I got revisions from my beta. Truth? I found more mistakes than she did, and she found less than **TEN** in the entire document.

That's fucking **AMAZING**.

Needless to say, I was on a roll with this. This is somewhat angsty and a little on the raunchy side, but it's legit. Oh, and there's footnotes that appear at the end of the chapter as well as a couple of links to sites I used as references. A lot of what came of this is derived from my own knowledge and experience, and may be slightly inaccurate (regarding the game they're playing, not the scenario). That's really the only warning. If you happen to know the game better than I do and see fallacies in my work, please point them out and I will promptly attempt to fix them. Actually, feel free to point out any mistakes you catch; I don't like looking like an amateur.

Sorry I'm rambling; I'll stfu now.

**EDIT 4/5/11: NAMES ARE ORIGINALS NOW AND TEAMS ARE REFERRED TO BY THEIR ORIGINAL NAMES AS WELL. LINKS SHOULD BE FIXED AT BOTTOM AND MORE FOOTNOTES HAVE BEEN ADDED! PLEASE POINT OUT ANY ERRORS SO THEY CAN BE CORRECTED!**

Disclaimer: I'd sumo-wrestle Takao Aoki just to own these two.

* * *

><p><em><strong>All In<strong>_

Nothing quite says kill me now like a trip down memory lane.

Yuriy ran a trembling hand through his hair as he drove along the cobblestones, idly turning the corner onto the street he'd been gunning for. He'd been avoiding the place for months, doing his best to stay away for fear of never being able to leave, but longing had gotten the better of him yet again, sinking its teeth in too deeply to be shoved aside for another night. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he'd never stay away for too long, lest his fascination finally up and abandon the place as well.

The redhead stubbed out his last cigarette in the ashtray next to the steering wheel, pulling up and reversing his vehicle next to another car to back into a narrow gap. He parallel-parked it like a champ, his wheels a perfect eighteen inches from the curb as he put it in park and turned the ignition off. The warmth of the heater died instantly, the small comfort it brought dissolving just as soon as he looked out through the passenger window.

The side of Moscow he was currently on was by far one of the roughest neighborhoods to live in. He'd grown up here in his years before the abbey and coming back was never something he took pride in. Outside the window stood his target destination, a run-down apartment complex with a couple of brooding teenagers smoking out on the steps to the front entrance. One of them, a raven-haired male in all black glared heatedly at him while the other male, a blond in a red coat and blue cargo pants, ignored him completely, slipping a flask out of his thick jacket and drinking himself stupid without a care in the world. They couldn't have been any older than seventeen or so.

What Yuriy wouldn't give to be their age again.

He stepped out into the street with hesitation, trying not to look unnerved by the male staring at him from a distance. Shutting his car door without looking up, Yuriy jammed his frozen hands into his pockets and headed for the stairs with his head down. The gray skies overhead were growing progressively darker, the streetlamps just a few minutes away from flickering on and a cold lash of wind hit him in face, reminding him of the impending winter.

As he approached the steps, Yuriy could still feel the dark teen's eyes trained upon him, attempting to crush him with sheer willpower alone. Perhaps the young male had recognized that he was not of the area; an outsider now in the very part of town where he'd once grown. He got to the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

"What in the _fuck_ are you staring at?" Yuriy spat viciously, rapidly piercing his frigid gaze into the dark-haired teen. "If you wanna keep that pretty-boy emo hair attached to that empty-ass head of yours, you'll turn around and get the fuck out of my way."

The black-haired male stood quickly, but not to make a hasty retreat. He stepped down to the stair just above Yuriy and glowered at him, the expression on his face positively livid. "Excuse me, _what_ did you just say to me?"

Upon closer inspection, Yuriy could now see that the teen was only wearing a thick black sweater over his torso and baggy black pants with chains attached to the legs. He wore no gloves or outerwear of any sort. His eyes were soft brown, but heavy with eyeliner, which might've intimidated him slightly if it hadn't been for one little factor.

"Tell me your name, kid."

"Huh?" The emo-looking male stepped back a pace onto the next highest stair defensively.

"Your name. What is it?"

The younger Russian squinted, trying to decide whether or not to beat the older man's ass just for being out of his damn mind.

"Nikolai," he responded lowly. "What's it to ya?"

"Hmm, Nikolai...Nikolai who has jet-black hair and shit-brown eyes," Yuriy made a mental annotation of the boy's looks, watching with delight as confusion further contorted the younger male's face. "Perhaps I should introduce you to my friend Boris. Know him? He lives on the third floor; real friendly fucker, I swear. Eats kittens for breakfast."

Said shit-brown eyes went wide with fear.

"Oh! So you _do_ know him! Charming, ain't he?"

Without ever taking his eyes off Yuriy, Nikolai reached over to hit the blond in the arm, who had been silently watching the two males argue. He staggered to his feet and jumped off the steps with Nikolai, disappearing in an instant as they raced down the street. Yuriy smirked with satisfaction.

_'Ah, the perks of having a psychopath as your best friend. They actually exist!'_

Yuriy's smug look followed him through the heavy wooden doors, the cold feel of the corridor not felt in the slightest as he made a left to the stairwell. He would've taken the elevator, but the damned thing scared the shit out of him with all the creaking noises it made upon ascending and descending. Old as it was, the cursed machine would probably snap a cable while he was in it one day and plummet him straight to the depths of Hell. He moaned as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up disdainfully. Three flights up and he'd be right where he needed to be. The wolf took the stairs two at a time, his long legs aiding him even as his breathing became labored. By the time he'd reached the top level of the complex, he was slightly gasping for air.

_'Holy fuck, I'm out of shape. How the fuck can I be skinny and out of shape? Hmm, I should probably quit smoking at some point...'_

Coming out of the stairwell, Yuriy made a right and wandered down to the end of the hallway. He stopped in front of room 319, the last apartment on the odd-numbered side of the floor. The wolf quickly caught his breath, swept a hand through his cherry-red hair again out of nervous habit, and gave himself a once-over. He was wearing a dark gray button-up with the first three buttons undone beneath an olive-green jacket, complimented well by his washed-out jeans with rips in the knees. They hung loosely on him and were tucked somewhat sloppily into black combat boots which were laced but untied, giving him a casual "fuck it" look.

_'God damn, did I really dress myself this morning? I look like shit.'_

Yuriy rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Hrgh? Who is it?" a voice called from inside.

Yuriy smiled at the deeply familiar accent, his disappointment in his clothing choices subdued by a sense of homeliness and relief.

"It's me, shithead. Is your fat ass asleep in there?"

"Mmbe...fuck, gimme a sec..."

Yuriy stood patiently outside the door, listening as he visualized what was probably happening on the other side. He imagined his old teammate sitting his lazy ass up on the couch, throwing some shitty threadbare blanket off of him to God-knows-where and cursing under his breath. Probably rubbing sleep from his eyes and checking around real quick to make sure the place looked half-ass livable.

A warm gust greeted him in the doorway.

Sure enough, there he was; leaning up against the door frame with a tired and/or bored expression on his face, his gray hair jostled about in the form of bed-head. He hadn't changed much, if at all, really. Other than the stress lines on his face appearing a little more prominent than last time he came over, Yuriy didn't notice much else different. He was wearing an old yellow t-shirt and mahogany trousers that were stuffed hastily into raggedy blue boots with fur at the top. It was almost as if he hadn't aged a day in five years.

_'Nope, haven't changed a damn bit. If I didn't know any better, I'd say those clothes are the same ones you used to wear back when we bladed together.'_

Boris stifled a yawn, popping his jaw a few times to wake himself up a bit. Yuriy took a second look while his friend was distracted. He was far from surprised.

_'Yep, shoulda known better. You never change, Kuznetsov...'_

"Well," the falcon drawled slowly, easing his way into the world of the living. "What's up? Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Yeah, been pretty busy lately," Yuriy rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward conversing out in the hallway. "Well, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna lemme in, asshole?"

_'If only you knew how many times I've been called __**that**__ on a daily basis...'_

"Oh, I dunno about all that," Boris teased. "I was sleepin' pretty good until you showed up."

Yuriy stomped his foot, pretending to be a spoiled child about it. "C'mon, cut me a break, will ya? I know you only have a couple of nights off during the week and I already drove all the way over here and—,"

The taller Russian flung the door open. "—oh, shut up; get your dumbass inside already."

Boris stepped aside to allow his friend in, feeling the warmth radiate from Yuriy's shivering body into the rest of the apartment. As aforementioned, it was on the more shoddy side of Moscow, an area where most of the buildings were either dilapidated or abandoned, but somehow Boris had managed to make the best of it. It had been a few months since he'd seen Yuriy, who had been busy with his job at a small orphanage on the opposite side of the city. The devoted redhead had made it his mission to educate the young boys and girls there to the best of his abilities, trying his damnest to give them a better life than he had, and the long work hours often interfered with staying in touch with his old teammates. Yuriy bit his lip thoughtfully as the door shut behind him.

"Hmm, it's clean for once I see."

"Only for you, Yuriy." Boris replied mockingly, kicking his boots back off beneath the light switch. As Yuriy observed his friend, he came to the realization that the only light in the room was coming from the television.

"It's rather dark in here. Why is that?" he inquired.

_'Always on point. You never miss a beat, Yuriy, that hasn't changed.'_

"Huh? Oh, lemme get that switch," Boris reached around behind Yuriy as he hung his coat up and flipped on a nearby lamp rather than the switch in front of him, illuminating the dreary living room with a soft glow. "Better? My last light bulb went to shit a couple of days ago and I've been too lazy to go buy a new one or switch it with the one from the lamp, so this is all I got. Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Yuriy moved away from the door and took a seat on the ratty blue couch in front of the TV, not hesitating for a second to kick off his boots and rest his sock feet on the coffee table. There was a romantic Russian sitcom playing at low volume on the television, indicating that Boris probably hadn't been watching it anyway. The former captain raised a sharp eyebrow. "You don't mind, do you?"

Boris chuckled softly, his deep accent apparent even in his laugh. "Of course not; why bother asking a question you know the answer to, Yuriy? My home is always open to you." The gray-haired man flopped down on the opposite end of the worn-out sofa, mimicking Yuriy's actions. "So how goes things? It's been what, four months maybe?"

Yuriy, who had been spacing out and taking in the dark, familiar feel of the apartment, turned his head to the side and met Boris' questioning look. "Things go well, I suppose. It's been crazy trying to work at the orphanage and take college courses at the same time, but it's well worth it."

Boris smiled caustically. "I'm sure it is. I've been by a few times and seen you at work; just passing through, you know. Those little shits love the hell out of you, no?"

Yuriy smiled as well, feeling the warm sense of security that came with being in Boris' presence and the satisfaction of his work being recognized. "Yeah, they love me alright. There's about thirty of them there right now, and at least six of those are just waiting to head to new foster homes. There's two that are actually about to be adopted."

"Is that so? Those kids are lucky they've got someone like you there taking care of them. Just think, Yuriy. You're probably the closest thing some of them have ever had to family before."

Yuriy shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing how to take that comment. He knew the feeling pretty well himself. "Well...If it helps, then that's all that matters, right?"

Boris noticed the sudden change in atmosphere around his captain and wormed his way into it. "Absolutely. No matter what happens from here, you can always take pride in the fact that you've done your best and that you've made a good role model for them." The taller of the two males laughed cynically, standing again as he did so. "If someone had asked me five years ago where I thought the great Yuriy Ivanov would be to this day, I would've told them prison, an insane asylum, or maybe even here in this shitty little apartment where I am. I never would've thought you'd be making something of yourself by working with kids just like we were. And if someone had told me you would be, I would've laughed so hard I'd of pissed myself in the process."

Yuriy chuckled to himself and watched with curiosity as Boris passed through the miniscule dining room into the kitchen, faintly hearing the clinking of glass as he moved about.

"What're you doing in there, Borya?" **(1)**

"Your mom," he shouted back, immediately followed by an amused snort.

Yuriy leered as he heard snickering from the kitchen. "Oh haha, _very_ mature, Borya. Seriously, what are you doing?"

"Getting something to drink. You thirsty?"

"Depends. Whatcha got in there?"

"Not shit. Pretty much just beer and water. Oh, and I've got—," Boris pulled the milk jug out of the fridge, took a whiff of it, cringed, and replaced it back on the shelf. _Ugh, fuck, what __**is**__ that shit? _"Ahaha, never mind, I don't think you'll want that."

Yuriy stood and headed into the dining room. "I'll take a beer, I guess."

Boris nodded, face-palmed for doing so knowing that Yuriy wouldn't have seen him nod, and pulled out two bottles, making his way to the dining room as well. "Whatcha doin' in here, Yuriy?"

"Got bored waiting on your happy ass, as usual." Icy blue eyes sparkled with mystical charm as Yuriy grinned and took the beer from Boris, looking toward the center of the room. "So this is your new dining table I take it?" he asked, gesturing to the cheap black card table.

"And what of it? Cost me a whole eight ruble; what more could you ask for?"

"Hmm, how about a deck of cards to go with it? You still play, right?"

Boris smirked, using his strong hands to twist the cap of his beer and taking a drink. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I do."

Yuriy punched him hard in the arm. "Don't bullshit me, do you or don't you?"

"Of course, what kind of dumbass question is that? Can't really stop when I'm still makin' bank off all the new suckers that come down to the bar on the weekends. Fridays are paydays, if you catch my drift." Boris set his bottle down and grabbed two metal folding chairs from the far wall, opening them both and offering Yuriy a seat. He placed the second chair on the other side of the table and walked off into the living room to grab his deck, turning up the TV just slightly for background noise.

Boris couldn't exactly lie; it got pretty lonely in this part of town. Most of the people in his apartment complex were assholes like himself, so he did his best to stay away from a good number of them, not to mention that he was pretty certain one of them was trafficking drugs in an apartment down the hall from him. Sure, there were a couple of girls on the lower floors that he'd met up with from time to time, but for the most part it was a lackluster place to live. The side of town he lived on was best described as shady, and his entire apartment reeked of despair. He'd lived here for a good two years now, having only recently taken up a job as a bartender a few months ago. Unfortunately for him, it was at a dingy pub just a few blocks away, far too close to home to consider himself free. Miserable as it was, the entire situation had become laughable.

If you had asked him five years ago where he thought _he'd_ be, stumbling home five nights a week wouldn't have been on the list of possible answers. He might've told you that he and the rest of the Neoborg team had decided to share a place and that despite their differences and hellish tempers, they were all doing just fine.

Truth was, they all really _were_ doing just fine.

All but him.

The gray-haired male, soon to turn twenty-two in a few days, continued to reflect as he turned and headed back into the dining room. Facing Yuriy after not seeing him for a while was always an adjustment, one that he had yet to get used to. A part of him would always remain jealous at the fact that his captain was doing better off without the rest of them, without _him_ namely. Hell, Yuriy finally had a job that had become his life, and he was trying to better himself despite all the foul misfortune that had plagued them in the past. How had he overcome it so easily? Boris often asked himself this question among many others. How had Yuriy moved on, and most importantly, why did _he _get left behind?

_'Because you're stronger than that, Yuriy. In all the years I've known you, you've never been much for beating around the bush, and you sure as hell have never been the one to wallow in this shit. I don't think I've ever loathed anyone more than I loathe you.'_

Boris closed his cold metal eyes briefly, trailing back into his train of thought.

_'...On second thought, I don't think I've ever loved anyone more than you, either...'_

Boris would never forget how they had met all those years ago, how it had been him to show Yuriy the way, and how without him the redhead might've never made it to see seven. Boris had always been a bastard, even in his early years, but the naïve male he would one day call his teammate, captain—and later on, friend—had done something that no other person had ever done. He had warmed him and made him care about the well-being of someone other than himself for a change. The Abbey hadn't exactly had a positive impact on either one of them, but as soon as the experiments and cruel training methods dissipated, so had the tension of their roles in Borkov's plans. They had gotten to live again, to know freedom and discover opportunity together as they moved away from their non-existent childhood years and into early adulthood.

They'd come so far since then. All of them had.

All except Boris.

The once feared blader had little to show for his life following his years in the beyblading league. After he hit sixteen and the mess with BEGA and Borkov had popped up, Boris had chosen to retreat away from the sport altogether, deciding it best to find a new calling in life while he was still young and had half a chance at making something of himself. The rest of Neoborg hadn't exactly been supportive of the decision, but when push came to shove, Yuriy had slung an arm over his shoulder and went to bat for him, telling the rest of their team that it was time to give up the ghost. They had disbanded and life had taken them many different places since.

Sergei, who had already turned twenty by the time the team split, had made the decision to return to Japan and take a job offer from Chairman Daitenji training inexperienced bladers at a new complex being built in Bay City. Boris could only recall hearing from him a few times over the years, maybe every three months or so at the most. To be perfectly honest, the last thing he'd heard from his former teammate was that he had met a girl a few months back and that she was considering moving in with him once she finished college. Apparently she was a short, dark-skinned girl with eyes of amber and a heart of gold. Or some bullshit like that. He wasn't exactly sure whether or not he was sober when Sergei had called last. For all he knew, she was probably three hundred pounds and smelled like death. Same difference.

Ivan on the other hand had settled in Volgograd, a city much smaller than Moscow but still rather large with a population of just over a million. It was about 500-600 miles south of Moscow, the climate there much more amiable and much warmer than where his other two teammates still lived. He had apparently picked up work at a chemical plant, having taken off on his own after living with Boris for almost three years until he turned seventeen. Boris hadn't spoken to him in over six months, and for the life of him couldn't remember what the hell they had discussed last time he'd done so. It had been somewhat awkward for both of them since the shorter male had ventured off on his own. Boris could only hope he was still doing well.

Forcing himself back into reality, the falcon took his seat at the flimsy table and began shuffling the deck. He couldn't think of a thing to say, really. Thankfully he hadn't had to.

"So, have you heard from anyone lately? Sergei or Ivan, maybe?" Yuriy asked innocently, taking note of Boris' hollow gaze as he watched his own fingers work.

_'Like a fucking mind reader, Ivanov, you inclusive bastard...'_

"Not exactly," he muttered in reply. "Haven't heard from 'em in ages. You?"

"Well, that's odd. I actually just heard from both of them a few days ago. Called on the same day, which was pretty weird in itself," Yuriy paused, watching intently as Boris' forehead furrowed in what appeared to be frustration. He hadn't looked up since the second he sat down, and it had begun to worry the redhead. Nevertheless, he pressed forward. "Believe it or not, that dope Sergei is actually getting married to that girl of his. What's her name again? I always forget."

_'Well, isn't that the understatement of the decade...the little things always did manage to elude you.'_

"Matsu," Boris shot back, his response dull compared to his generally snarky and somewhat playful replies he often came prepared with. However, at this reply Yuriy still snickered, gaining a harsh look from the morose Russian across from him. "What? Did I say something amusing to you, _captain_?"

Yuriy snorted, finally opening his drink and kicking back in the uncomfortable metal chair as best he could. He took a long gulp of it before answering. "Heh, leave it to Sergei to fall in love with a chick whose name means 'pine tree'. Just remembered that I Googled it when he first told me about her a while back. Bet ya she's as entertaining as one, too."

Boris couldn't help but crack a smile at that one. Even on the gloomiest of days, Yuriy always knew just what to say to bring him out of his little hole in the ground. Granted, it was almost always at the expense of someone else, but the gesture was nonetheless appreciated.

"I suppose that's a strong possibility. Think we'll ever get to meet her? Come to think of it, where the fuck is my wedding invitation? Damn lovebirds too wrapped up in one another to send 'em?"

Yuriy tensed. He hadn't realized that Sergei hadn't sent Boris one. He'd received his weeks ago.

Too bad he wasn't any better at lying than a five-year-old.

"...Well, I don't actually know if he's plannin' on—,"

"—it's okay, shithead, not like I expected one anyway." Boris went back to shuffling the cards quietly, the only sounds to be heard coming from their endless collision with one another and the television from the other room. The slight tinge of hurt in those words lingered long afterward.

_'Bitter fucker you are, Borya. Always could see right through me.'_

Yuriy just didn't get it some days. He had made more of an effort to reach out to Boris than anyone had, and yet he always felt like his attempts were being diminished by one feat or another. There was always _something_ that would come up and completely ruin the mood when he came over to Boris' place, and he hadn't a clue why. Couldn't that jarhead see that he was still trying, even when the others had long since given up?

Yuriy knew full-well why he had chosen to stay in Moscow when Ivan and Sergei had taken off. He could reword the situation a hundred ways, and in the end, it would always come down to Boris. Even though the two hadn't lived together in five years, the wolf remained protective of the falcon, often times forgetting that Boris was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Then again, he'd seen some things lately that had started to make him think otherwise.

Like last week when he found his old teammate passed out in the alley behind the bar.

Oh yes, even Yuriy had gotten a taste of the real world that Boris had unknowingly stumbled into. He had been so frantic that night, damn near hyperventilating when he found his best friend lying on the ground without so much as a grunt from him signaling that he was alright. He'd been breathing slow and deep, but was otherwise dead to the rest of the world. Yuriy would be reluctant to ever admit it, but he checked up on Boris often, more often than was normal for just any run-of-the-mill friend. Boris had a nasty habit of going out and doing reckless shit and Yuriy had made it his responsibility to look after the younger male. The falcon was a fiend to contend with while sober, even more threatening with a few shots in his system, but nothing he could do under either circumstance had compared to the scared-shitless sensation the wolf experienced the last time he'd come over to Boris' place. Yuriy had just barely managed to drag his husky body through the door to his apartment and bandage his knuckles that had been split wide open, indicating a brutal knockout for some poor unfortunate asshole who had bothered to cross his path after work. Not that Boris was supposed to be getting hammered on the job anyway, but temptation is an ugly tyrant. Yuriy knew better than to expect Boris of all people to be on his best behavior.

He knew better than to expect a lot of things from Boris.

_'Like how I always expected you to live with me. How...Why did it come to this, Borya? Why didn't you stay all those years ago? Because you're too fucking stubborn for your own good, Mr. I-Gotta-Make-It-On-My-Own, that's why. And being your friend meant having to back you up, even when I myself wasn't ready to see you leave. Didn't you know you didn't have a thing to prove?'_

Yuriy washed away those thoughts with another swig of beer, looking up only slightly to discover that Boris was already on his second. How had he gotten up without Yuriy noticing?

_'Always were a sly bastard, Kuznetsov. Not that I ever expected that to change about you...Or anything to change about you for that matter.'_

Trying to get himself back on topic without rubbing salt in the obviously open wounds, Yuriy pressed forward. "Meh, I wouldn't worry about it anyway. I really wasn't planning on going. Besides, where the fuck would I get the money to fly all the way to Japan? Not exactly counting on Daitenji to cough up the dough needed for that little expenditure." **(2)**

"Mhm..." was all that came from Boris, who finally appeared to be finished with shuffling. How long had they been sitting there again? "So what game we playin'? Hold 'em sound good to you?"

Yuriy smiled slowly, trying not to let his old teammate see his true delight in the game of choice.

Yuriy was an absolute _beast_ at hold 'em.

"I suppose." Light azul scanned over the red-backed playing cards as they were tossed across the table, just two of them landing in front of him face-down as Boris played dealer. The five community cards were behind where his hands flipped the corners of his own two cards to see what he was working with. Yuriy was running an unsuited ace-high with a seven kicker, and Boris ran a pair of jacks. Yuriy felt smug and narrowed his eyes challengingly at the dealer. "What would you like to wager with, Borya?"

Boris frowned. "Well, I've got rent coming up next week and I don't exactly have the extra cash to be flaunting...Maybe we could just play a friendly game with no money involved?"

Yuriy laughed, nearly sputtering the beer in his mouth all over the table and Boris' face. "That afraid to lose, are we? I suppose that's fair, but why let this be just a dull game? I've got a better idea, one that won't exactly hurt your wallet." The wolf grinned eagerly, his nervousness masked by a perfect air of confidence. "Might hurt your pride a bit, though."

"What are you talking about?" Boris asked irritably, his confusion and intuition preparing him for the worst.

After all, it wasn't exactly a good thing when Yuriy Ivanov was grinning at you.

"Well, I was thinking," Yuriy drawled, his cocky attitude easily detectable in his voice, "That maybe you and I could wager with something a little less costly. Say you win this round. Then you have the freedom to ask me anything you wanna ask. Kinda like...truth or dare, maybe?"

Boris raised a curiously high gray eyebrow, smirking back at the crimson-haired moron across from him. He couldn't really be considering this, could he? Oh, the things that could ensue...

"You're not serious right now, are you? Because when I wipe the floor with you, you're going to be doing everything from spilling the deepest darkest secrets from the depths of your pink Hello Kitty diary to downing that entire gallon of curdled milk sitting in my fridge."

Yuriy couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Think so? That's an interesting little thought; surprised you've already got this all planned out. I'll bet you've been saving that milk just for me, haven't you?" he asked, batting his eyes for a dramatic effect.

Boris laughed as well. "Well, I do like giving gifts to the less fortunate..."

Yuriy sneered across the table at his companion. "Challenge accepted, _zhopa_. But what are we going to bet with in the meantime? There has to be something in this craphole of yours that we can wager." **(3)**

Boris glared, the slight tug at the side of his mouth the only indicator that he wasn't about to beat Yuriy to a pulp. "Watch it, Red; this is _my_ craphole we're talkin' about. Gimme just a minute, I'll find somethin'." The falcon rose to search his apartment for something, _anything_ that could serve as ruble for their little game. He came back to the room empty-handed. "I couldn't find shit."

"Well, I did," Yuriy pulled out a jumbo-sized bag of M&Ms from behind his back, smiling as Boris' cold gray eyes widened. "Well? Will these work?"

"Goddammit, Yuriy, that's like the only thing I have to eat in this place! Ugh..." The falcon ran his fingers quickly through his jacked-up hair. "Fine, we'll use them. I guess 'chocolate' isn't exactly synonymous with 'dinner' anyway."

Yuriy's eyes brightened like those of a small child. The greedy wolf had already stolen himself a handful and eaten them before Boris returned to the room, but it hadn't stopped him from grabbing out a much larger handful and placing the wobbling candies next to his beer. He handed the bag to Boris who did the same.

"Alright, let's do this. Since you suggested the type of play, I'm calling the style; we're playing no-limit hold 'em without antes," Boris gave the wolf a look of skepticism and Yuriy laughed. "And before you ask, no, I didn't peek at your hand while you were gone."

"Never would've asked if you had," Boris replied nonchalantly, peering up at the clock behind his opponent. "We'll start with the blinds at 2-4, and they'll increase by one every ten minutes. Sound fair to you?"

Yuriy brushed his nails off with his shirt, admiring them afterward with a cocky glance over the bridge of his nose. He flashed the falcon a feral grin. "Sounds fine, Pigeon, let's get started." **(4)**

Boris sneered and flipped the first three community cards without hesitation.

"The flop" landed a seven of clubs, a two of clubs, and a nine of spades. Yuriy pondered for just a second before making his move. A pair of sevens wasn't much for the redhead to go off, but seeing as his ace was also a club, he decided to check with grim hope of picking up a modest flush later in the round. Boris attempted to read his former captain to no avail, settling for a check as well. Then the turn came, an unexpected jack of clubs, and it took every ounce of Boris' self-control to keep from grinning. A high set certainly wasn't the worst hand to start off the game with, so he decided to raise after Yuriy opened the round, playing into the small blind with his first bet and tossing a couple of brown M&Ms into the pot. Boris watched with amusement as Yuriy's eyes narrowed.

"Brown?_ Really_, Borya?"

Boris sniggered. "Well, I figured since you're gonna be eatin' shit by the time this game is finished, you might as well get used to it."

Yuriy's face knotted with distaste, obviously not amused at Boris' antics. "We'll see about that." The redhead eagerly awaited the revealing of the final card.

The river card was an ace of spades. Yuriy kept his best poker-face up in spite of his disgust. Two pair wasn't a great hand to be carrying, but it looked pretty good considering the somewhat poor turnout of the community cards. Even still, not being dealer that round put him at the disadvantage of going first for every stage of the hand following the flop. He allowed his cool blue eyes to scan Boris' features, taking in as much as he could about the hand the falcon was holding. He was already certain that Boris couldn't possibly be holding a flush or a straight, but there was always the fear that he may also have an ace with a better kicker, or possibly two higher ranking pairs than his own. Yuriy scrutinized his opponent once more. He discerned nothing, however, as Boris too had mastered the perfect poker-face. His cold metallic eyes shimmered at Yuriy darkly, made more intense by the slight flicker of the bare light bulb hanging over the table. That sudden flash in the stormy gray irises had taken Yuriy aback momentarily, causing him to doubt his own hand. It was all he needed to see to know it was best to fold. He turned his cards face-up and tossed them to Boris.

"Hn, giving up so easily, Ivanov? Surely I'm not _that_ much of a dead giveaway," Boris flipped his cards as well, proving that Yuriy had been right to play it safe. "You must have an amazing intuition."

A coy smile and a soft reply came from the captain. "I'm not an amateur at this, Borya. You don't think I would've agreed to play if I were a novice, do you?"

Boris laughed heartily, scooting the deck toward Yuriy and the earnings from the previous hand toward his pile. "No, I'd certainly hope you were smarter than that, seeing as I spent the better part of my life following you around like a lapdog. So since I won, I guess that means I get to ask you a question or force you to do something degrading and unspeakable, right?"

Yuriy's smile soured quickly, almost regretting having said that they should add some entertainment to their little game. "Yes, I suppose that's right. Well?"

"Okay then, truth _or dare?_"

Boris' sadistic tone curled from his brusque lips like cigar smoke, constricting his former teammate with an ominous, invisible weight. Yuriy felt himself being trapped by the foreshadowing nature with which the falcon spoke. He had often felt this way before, but there was something lingering in Boris' words that had him truly terrified for once. Something in his demeanor had led Yuriy to find the threat hidden amongst that cruel smile mocking him from across the table. It left the wolf with only one feasible option: the bitch's way out. **(5)**

"Truth," he replied promptly, not wanting Boris to have any more time to formulate sick, twisted ideas for when he finally chose the dare option. Boris' smile turned into a smug curvature that only made Yuriy regret opening his mouth even further. This was sure to be unpleasant no matter what option he had settled upon.

"Hmm, takin' the easy way out, huh? Fair enough," Boris tilted back in the folding chair, leaning the back support against the plywood wall behind him as he took a long swallow of beer, appearing to be deep in thought yet already decisive on Yuriy's punishment. "Okay then, we'll start this out easy. Answer me this: I have no fucking clue how I got home last Thursday night. When I woke up, I was lying on my couch, my hands were bandaged up, and I had a blanket thrown over top of me. My car made it here as well. Care to explain how I made it back here?"

So Boris knew.

_'You would have to ask that question, wouldn't you? Why am I not surprised? Guess you're either just that predictable or you're just too blunt and direct to expect anything else from...'_

Yuriy gathered up the card pile in front of him and rearranged it so that it formed a deck once more, cutting it once before shuffling it loudly. The incessant sound of the cards making contact with one another as Yuriy created bridge after bridge with them overpowered the soft Russian voices from the television in the distance. The wolf replied with dry enthusiasm, eyes trained on his work the same way Boris' had been earlier.

"I found you out back of the bar at about two in the morning. You hadn't answered your cell when I called, so I came to this side of town and tracked you down. Decided it was best to just drive you home in your car and walk back to get mine. End of story. Anything else?"

Boris' face didn't show it, but he was a bit surprised at the clipped tone his captain had used to recall the tale. He knew exactly what had happened, but having Yuriy confirm it in such choppy sentences told him that the redhead had been far from pleased to be dragging his ass home at 2AM. He didn't expect the wolf to be happy necessarily, but his bitter voice made it clear that the fiasco had been more of a nuisance to him than anything.

_'Fuck, can't I ever do anything right for you, Yuriy?' _Boris thought sardonically._ 'Well, at least that's out of the way now...'_

The falcon grunted in response, finishing off his second bottle and getting up quickly to get a third.

Maybe this little idea of Yuriy's wasn't such a great one after all.

Boris took his seat once more, uncapping the bottle as soon as he got comfortable again and taking a thick swallow of beer, observing with sharp eyes as Yuriy passed out the cards for the next hand.

This was going to be one hell of a long night.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One Footnotes:<strong>

_**1. **Borya-pet version of Boris_

_**2. **Daitenji-Mr. Dickinson's original last name_

_**3.** Zhopa_-English way of writing the Russian word for asshole, at least to my knowledge.

_**4. **Pigeon_-Obviously Yuriy's little nickname for Boris. Thought it was cute since his bit-beast is a bird. :)

_**5. **The bitch's way out_-a long-standing expression used by my beta and I when we would play Super Smash Bros Melee and one of us would commit suicide off the edge of the stage at high damage to keep our opponent from gaining a point for killing us. If you've never played the game, you just might fail at life. Get some.

**Links:**

**1.** Okay, I can't seem to get this one to show up. **Google "rank of hands" and select the second link, just below the wikipedia one. **This will show you the rank of hands. Using the two pocket cards, the player must make the best possible hand using three of the five community cards. This site will show you them from best to worst.

**2. **.org/wiki/Betting_in_poker**-**(add http:/ and all that to get to it, or search for "betting in poker" and get on wikipedia if this doesn't work for some reason...) This site will teach you a little about the betting concept of the game. My details may be a tad off, but accurate for the most part (I believe).

**AN:** Well guys, what do you think? Chapter two will be posted in a few days. :) Hope to hear some feedback from you YuBo lovers! Oh, and just so you all know, it took me **FOREVER** to go back and change all the names. I did a hella amount of research on the game of Texas Hold 'em to write this too. How's _that_ for dedication? Let's see some reviews, folks!

-PD


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Hey there, PD here. Sorry I didn't post this chapter earlier in the week! I'm still working on the third and was trying really hard not to put this one up until I had the next one done. I do plan to finish it, even if it ends up taking me a while. Hopefully the next chapter will be the last. It may take time due to having several different ideas for it, but it'll get done eventually.

If you catch any mistakes or names that I forgot to change in this chapter, or in any of my other chapters/works, please tell me. I don't like failing when it comes to writing.

Enjoy, dearies. ^-^

Disclaimer: Haven't we been through this already? I DO own them. PISS OFF.

Despite the fact that their evening together had started off rather unpleasant and somewhat awkward, things had started to settle down a bit after Yuriy got through his first six-pack and Boris was well on his way to finishing a twelve. The hands had been back and forth for three hours straight, prying questions and ridiculous dares tossed charily between the two Russians like hot coals. The game finally appeared to be drawing to a close, with over three-fourths of the M&Ms in Boris' possession.

Boris had learned several things over the course of the evening. He had discovered that Yuriy was apparently his own little personal stalker and that he had a _highly_ sensitive stomach. The poor captain had upchucked a luscious blend of body temperature beer and chunky milk all over the kitchen floor, Boris howling so hard he'd burst into tears in the process as he pointed and laughed like an immature child. There were other interesting tidbits he discovered as well. Such as the fact that Yuriy did in fact have OCD, of which Boris had always suspected anyway, and that he had never technically _been_ with anyone before.

That one had stumped Boris. How the hell had _Yuriy_ of all people ended up alone all this time?

The brooding Russian tossed an empty bottle over his shoulder, not really caring whether it hit something and knocked it over. He didn't have much of value in the murky little apartment anyway, so why bother? He was currently sitting pretty at the end of another hand, the odds in his favor with a high run. Boris pushed a few of the now slightly melted candies into the center and waited for Yuriy to make a move.

Yuriy had found out some rather interesting information about Boris over the course of the past three hours as well. He had actually gotten his former teammate to admit part of why he had abandoned the rest of them five years ago. The gray-haired male had hesitated, but reluctantly—and somewhat shamefully—admitted that part of why he had left was because he felt inadequate as a member of the team. He had failed in Moscow when his win had been most vital, and he had failed two years later when faced against Garland, even with Sergei at his side. He hadn't felt worthy of his spot on the team and chose to take that realization as his cue to leave.

If Yuriy had been able to figure that out on his own five years ago, they would be in a very different situation to this day.

The redhead knocked back the last of his bottle, placing it to the side and looking rather wearily at Boris. The younger Russian questioned him with a curious glance, noticing the distant look in Yuriy's piercing eyes. Yuriy himself had been oblivious to Boris watching him, getting up slowly and heading into the kitchen again without a word. He returned to the card table with another beer already pressed to his lips, downing it just as fast as his body would allow.

_'If I could go back and change anything, Borya, that would be it. I would've told you that you were fucking stupid for thinking about leaving, that I didn't support your decision and then I would've beaten the shit out of you and forced you to stay. And maybe, just maybe, we'd both be happy all these years later. Fucking look at you,' _Yuriy stared hazily at Boris' intoxicated figure, both intrigued and disgusted with him. _'Things could've been different, you selfish piece of shit.'_

Boris was still waiting for Yuriy to either hold or fold, but was much less interested in the game than he was Yuriy's actions. The redhead didn't drink near as often as Boris, and to see him chugging a drink now just seemed...wrong.

_'You goddamned fool, last time I checked that was __**my**__ bright idea. Are you trying to prove something to me, Yuriy? What, that you don't wanna be here anymore than I do? You're free to go. But me...this is all I've got. If there's anything I've learned up 'til this point, it's that I've got nothin' at all to offer you.'_

The falcon watched quietly as the wolf took his seat, barely suppressing a sigh of hopelessness.

_ 'You know, Red, it's almost funny how being here with you again puts everything into perspective. But if having you here brings it all back, why do I still feel so numb? Maybe hollow's a better word for it. Is that what you're trying to achieve too? That dying sensation? Because I swear it doesn't work as well as you might think, my friend. It'll never make you free...'_

Yuriy took another peek at his hand, setting his nearly empty bottle next to it and glancing down at his pocket cards. He was toting trips, a mediocre hand to have carried past the turn card, and a downright shitty one to have ended the round on. The wolf flared his nostrils with a huff and re-raised. There was no sense in backing out if he was already losing.

Sure enough, Boris caught onto the partial bluff and re-raised as well, daring Yuriy to go all-in on this one hand. Then they could be rid of each other and this whole entire evening could dissipate just as quickly as it materialized. Yuriy wouldn't be done in so easily. He shrugged and flipped up his cards, revealing the losing hand. His intuition had been on-point throughout the course of the game, but the deck had favored Boris time and time again in the past half hour of play, leaving the redhead no choice but to fold round after round. He hadn't lost near as many candies to Boris head-to-head as he had to the starting blinds. Yuriy scowled down at the cards, cursing his shitty luck with a vengeance.

"Not lookin' so tough over there, Ivanov. Say, weren't you supposed to be a pro at this game? As in _not_ an amateur?" Boris had long since abandoned his bemused expression, merely doing his best not to glare at the overly-ripe strawberry across from him.

"Shut up," the wolf muttered, his tone equally as acidic as his taller companion's. "So do you even have to bother asking now? After that little milk stunt, you know 'm gonna pick truth anyway."

"Oh, I know. I just enjoy watchin' you get riled up at the thought of another dare. I warned you, didn't I?" Boris attempted to give a brash smile, but his heart wasn't in it. Yuriy could see clearly though the falcon's lie.

"Whatever, just ask."

"Hmm, what the hell haven't I already asked you?" Boris pondered a moment, clasping his hands and watching Yuriy shuffle the deck for the hundredth time that night. His movements were much more sluggish than usual; Boris took his chances. "Well, seein' as I already asked all the basic generic shit, how about this: Why the fuck are you still here?"

Yuriy's head snapped up at once, cutting deep into the falcon with the sharpest look he had ever mustered. "What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It _means_," Boris began slowly, "That I don't fucking understand why you're still here. Not just my apartment, but...why are you still in Moscow?"

The wolf's look softened instantly, an unreadable emotion in his feral eyes. Was that hurt Boris saw, or was he just imagining it? Sadness? Why was Yuriy looking at him like that?

Said Russian bit his bottom lip, closing his lids and taking a deep breath in, slow to exhale. He looked up at the ceiling, knowing there was no way in hell he could look Boris in the face and say these words.

"_Well_?" the falcon repeated, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

"I...I didn't have a choice. You were still here, 'n you still are, so here I am." Yuriy looked back across the card table to see a very flabbergasted Boris half-gaping at him, so he decided to continue. "Look, I could've ditched just like Ivan 'n Sergei did and it wouldn't've done me a damn bit of good. I would've ended up back in this city no matter how far I tried to run..." The cool blue orbs chilled Boris to the core as they clashed with his silver stare. "I can't run when I've got nowhere to go 'n nothin' to run from. 'N I sure as fuck can't run when I've got everything I wan—,"

"—You stayed because of _me_?" Boris stood now, coming to the other side of the table and standing off to Yuriy's side. The captain turned to face his former subordinate and looked up.

"_What_?"

A hard slap hit him square across the face.

"You're a goddamn stupid fucker, y'know that?" Boris roared, his cutting voice felt by every bone in Yuriy's body, shaking him like a brittle leaf on a dying tree. The redhead remained motionless, too anesthetized by the alcohol and the shock to make any sudden movement. "You stayed here all this fuckin' time to—what?—watch over me? You could've already _had_ your happy ending, but no, what do you choose to do? You choose to rot away in this piece of shit city for my sake! What the fuck's wrong with you, Yuriy?"

The male in question appeared dazed, his ghostly fingers lightly observing the damage to his cheek without looking. He could feel the throbbing beneath his fingertips as he flinched ever so slightly at his own stinging touch. Yuriy set the deck down and stood, his posture calm and poised in contrast to his glazed eyes and blazing temper rising from being struck. Before Boris had any time at all to anticipate his movement, he found himself with his back slammed harshly against the wall, a thin hand clamped possessively around his neck and one of his wrists. Pain shot up through his spine from the point of contact, his airway cut off completely by the vice grip over his throat. Yuriy watched with sick satisfaction as the falcon went blue in the face, the paradox of being opposites yet one in the same unfathomable as red adorned his own cheeks, a concoction composed of anger, shame, guilt, and hurt all surfacing after years of being buried.

Despite being choked and partially helpless, Boris couldn't help but feel a rise as he noticed the cool contact of Yuriy's frail yet rigid body against his own. Was that why the wolf had suddenly turned so red? He imagined that he himself had to look something close to purple at the moment if that were truly the case.

_'God damn, Yuriy, if I die right fucking now, I just might die happy.'_

"So that's the fucking thanks I get, huh? You wanna know why I'm _really_ still here, Borya? Because you're a goddamned fuck-up and you wouldn't even be here right now if I wasn't around. Some sick fuck would've robbed and probably raped you last week in that alley if I hadn't come along, could've fucking killed you for all you know, and all you can think about is your bastard self! Why stay in Moscow? Because unfortunately for both of us, _you're_ all I fucking have!"

Yuriy fell silent, releasing the grip on Boris' neck, but still holding onto that wrist of his. If it was all destined to fall apart now, he might as well go full-throttle and say it all before he sobered up and lost what little nerve he ever had.

Although still attempting to catch his breath, Boris was more or less speechless anyway. Had Yuriy really just said that? That Boris was all he had left? How could that even be possible? The falcon had been hiding away in his little apartment trying to escape from his past for all these years to find that the one piece he had never really been able to let go of was still holding onto_ him_ for dear life. And to that one little piece, it never mattered that he was a fuck-up, that he gobbled fucking antidepressants faster than a child devoured Halloween candy, and that he didn't have shit to show for his life. For all the years since he'd been on his own, the only thing Boris had managed to acquire was a long and growing list of issues ranging everywhere from financial to mental.

Why had Yuriy chosen _him_ over happiness?

The falcon looked down, watching the rage swirl in Yuriy's eyes as their gazes met. His free hand, which had been bracing himself against the wall he was pressed to during the assault and rubbing his sore neck after the fact, now ran through his captain's thick red hair, coaxing him to look back up when he had averted his eyes downward in embarrassment.

For being two years older than Boris, Yuriy would always be the child of the two.

"Look at me," Boris demanded, not a bit of playfulness or wiggle-room in his tone. The proud wolf, now looking more like a kicked puppy than a vicious hunter, complied without struggle. "You had no right to give up your own future like that, Yuriy. You know better than that."

"Do I?" Yuriy scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, fighting to find his next choice of words. "Do you really think you're below me, Borya?" His question was coated with accusation and bewilderment, his disbelief shining brightly through the dim cerulean barriers separating them.

Boris said nothing. Maybe he _had_ believed that all this time.

_'And why the fuck would I think anything else? You're so much better than me, Yuriy, it's not even funny. You always have been. If I were even half as good as you are, I'd be working at some homeless shelter somewhere and trying to go to school too. I'm two years younger than you, for fucks sake, and yet __**I'm**__ the one who's already given up. So why the hell did you waste all this time...on me? What are you waiting for?'_

"So that's it. Nothin'? No comeback? No 'Shut the fuck up, Red'? Nada?" The wolf reached up and pulled the rough hand out of his hair, pinning it to the wall as well. Now Boris was _really_ fucked. "I've been your best friend for fifteen years 'n you don't have two fucking words to say about this?"

"...Let's bet."

"Huh?"

A spur-of-the-moment idea; not the greatest, but Boris had no choice but to roll with it. He squinted down at Yuriy, his wrists shifting beneath the shorter male's unyielding grasp. "You barely have enough 'ruble' to make it through 'nother round. Let's finish the game."

Yuriy's shifty eyes glared the younger male down, pissed beyond all belief that Boris had even bothered to mention the damn game at such a crucial moment. However, the silent promise of what the end of their game signified rang true to Yuriy, who released the falcon and took his seat, dealing the final hand with more finesse than he'd possessed the entire time he'd been there. Boris crossed his arms defensively from his chair on the other side of the table.

This was going to be a fight-or-flight round for both of them.

Yuriy was first to act, having no choice as dealer but to make the first move at the pre-flop. He looked down at his cards and barely managed to mask his abhorrence. A suited king-queen of hearts wasn't exactly the kind of hand he wanted to see before he got knocked out completely, the irony of it paining him to depths unknown. _Thanks again, Cupid, you jackass..._To anyone else who had ever played the game, this would be a fabulous hand to start the round with. For Yuriy, however, the nightmare had only just begun. He had started many a round with this very same hand and the river card had fucked him over _every single time. _He looked to his pile, a mere twenty-three candies left to wager. His breathing went shallow instantly as over half of his remaining "chips" went into the pot.

Boris took a rather disgusted look at his own hand as well, resisting the immediate urge to groan when he saw a suited six-nine. _Oh, haha, very fucking funny, Ivanov, you would deal a hand like this wouldn't you.._. Of all the damn pocket cards to try and win the game with, he would have to get one of the worstpossible hands known to man. Okay, well maybe not the_ worst_; anyone who ever played hold 'em could easily tell you that two-seven off-suit was by far the most atrocious hand to hold. Although fully loaded with about ninety percent of the M&Ms in his possession, he decided to show a small bit of mercy by playing in the big blind, a good amount of his pile pushed in without caution.

Yuriy glared heatedly. Was Boris trying to fuck with him?

_'Not your brightest move there, Kuznetsov. If you think for a damn second that I can't kick your ass just because I'm two-thirds your weight and three inches shorter, you'd best think again.'_

Yuriy showed the flop, revealing an ace, seven and eight, all of which were miraculously of the same suit...all hearts. Both players felt a rush of relief wash over them, small mercy from above playing into their hands this time. With both Russians holding pocket hearts, they had managed to pick up a flush right off the bat. Yuriy remained in the lead with the higher hand. However, with blinds running 20-40 after each ten minute raise, the wolf had only three hard-coated chocolates to his name.

_'I've got you this time, you bastard; I can feel it. Chris Jesus Ferguson himself is shining down on me tonight brighter than all the goddamned stars in the galaxy and I won't let him down.' _**(1)**

_ 'Well, Yuriy, it appears our game really will end here. It's been nice knowing you.' _

Boris took note of the massive pile in the center of the table, glancing at Yuriy's non-existent 'chips'. He really wanted out of this hand more than anything, but it was far too late to back out now that he'd initiated the challenge. Even though they would both face consequences whether they won or lost the round, he had to continue playing to the very best of his abilities, his face never giving the slightest hint as to what his hand might contain. Fuck, for all he knew, Yuriy was probably holding pocket aces and was about to win this round by catching quads at the last second.

It really didn't matter what he was holding, though. All Boris knew was that this game had to end here. One way or another, this had to be the final round, because questions were scalding him from the inside out and it was taking every bit of his willpower not to lash out this very second, chucking the damn card table straight out his third-story window and going utterly and completely ape-shit. He wanted to beat the living hell out of Yuriy for staying because he wouldn't—couldn't—leave. He had ruined his own chances at a better life in making that call, and now Boris couldn't begin to fathom why the wolf hadn't run when the others had. What the fuck did that even mean, "you're all I fucking have?" The confusion and false hope churned his stomach, causing it to do flip-flops and somersaults that would make any gymnast proud and jealous at the same time.

Yuriy drummed his fingers on the table top and wiped the weariness from his eyes, ignoring the gray glare of the falcon. He began to toy with the last three M&Ms in his possession, pushing the red, yellow, and blue sweets around in a pattern to create miniature figure-eights.

Boris' thoughts calmed, if only for a moment. Yuriy couldn't be trying to bluff this hand if his nerves were showing through so visibly; he was riding this one out, betting what little he had until he would be forced to wager the rest of his pile.

So be it.

Yuriy's heart began to race as he flipped the turn card, the jack of hearts only finalizing his decision. This would be his last shot.

Boris' eyes narrowed to mere slits. He could easily survive the hand even if he didn't win it, but calling here would put Yuriy all-in. Was the wolf's hand really worth betting the game on? As if to justify what cards his adversary was holding, he took a good hard look at the older male, simultaneously trying to discern the emotions hidden beneath that frosty exterior of his. He knew his opponent had already figured out what the end of this game would do to them.

It would either tear them apart for good or it would...

The sadistic Russian closed his thoughts with a raise, which was quickly followed by a call.

"'m all in." Yuriy stood now, much the way he'd seen the Americans do at their World Series of Poker main events, looking all up in arms as though the outcome of that hand were the most important event of their lives.

For Yuriy, it would seal his fate.

"Call." Boris stood as well, his legs shaking as he got to his feet. Had he been more lanky than built, his knees would've surely been knocking against one another by this point.

Yuriy maintained his balance by pressing a hand firmly to the table top, trying to control his breathing and slow his heart rate. Boris could hear the exhalations grow more and more staggered by the second and felt the tension bare down on him with so much force that it was as though Yuriy's hand had never left his neck. He was suffocating in this room, this dirty little excuse for a home where dreams would either be made or shattered in the blink of an eye, the swell of a solitary heartbeat. Both players had their flush, but neither would expose their cards. Boris saw it that Yuriy should be first to do so since he was the one to go all-in, but when the redhead merely stood his ground without revealing his hand, the falcon followed suit.

Oceanic blue and quicksilver crashed into one another full-force, the thick steel walls holding firm against the rage of high tides.

...But it appeared that the waves were meant to come in over the top this time around.

The river card was a ten of hearts. Boris smiled sweetly, victory laced about his tongue like a brightly-beaded garland. He divulged his straight flush to his opponent.

"Well, Yuriy, I guess that's good game."

"So it is." The wolf replied indifferently.

_'Wait for it...'_

"Huh?"

_'Wait for it...'_

Boris' eyes widened in horror as Yuriy's face went aglow with fervor.

_'Almost there, Pigeon. You're not always the brightest son-of-a-bitch, but you got this.'_

"Oh _HELL_ to the fuck no!"

_'Ah, there it is.'_

The falcon's jaw attempted to open several times, but clamped shut repeatedly until he could finally manage to outline the words. "You can't...there's no fuckin' way you could be!"

"Oh yes, my old friend," Yuriy's pearly whites glinted marvelously in the dim yellow light, his eyes wide with satisfaction and utter annihilation. He held the look of a predator that had just closed in on its pray. "Read 'em 'n weep."

Boris deadpanned as Yuriy flipped his pocket cards.

A royal flush.

"You...you finally did it. I've never seen you win with that hand before. Not in eight goddamn years of playin' this game have I seen you pull it off!" Boris couldn't even begin to mask his appall.

_'Well, fuck me runnin', Red. You got me.'_

Yuriy took his broad hands and scraped the pot over to his side of the table, the ragged breaths subsiding as he took back a good portion of his original "stack". He had caught the royal flush at the very last second with the ten, giving him the winning hand. Boris had thought he had the game with the very same card, completing his straight flush, but for the first time ever Yuriy had played and won with king-queen hole cards. Even if it had been the result of a retarded amount of luck and an apparently racist deck that had opted to only reveal hearts in the previous round, an unheard-of occurrence that would make any game official shake their head in disbelief, he was nonetheless grateful.

"So then—,"

"—Well, Red, I guess that means—,"

"—Hold that thought," Yuriy covered Boris' mouth with his palm, watching bafflement cloud his eyes. When he felt sure the so-called "pigeon" would understand what he was trying to do, he took his hand away carefully, as though releasing a captive into the wild.

"Yuriy, what about—,"

"—forget about it," the wolf stood unnervingly close to the falcon, his "captain voice" filling the room and demanding full attention. "Forget the game, Borya; the cards _and_ the horseplay. I want the truth."

Boris felt himself shrink beneath Yuriy's ever-poignant stare, the order from the redhead's mouth a testament of their lifelong bond. Only Yuriy could truly stipulate something so easily from the falcon and expect an honest answer.

Said falcon took a revitalizing breath, closing his eyes to soak in the possibilities before answering. He gave his former captain an off-handed smile, one weary from prospect and what he soon believed would be regret.

"...What do you wanna know?"

The words were spoken uncharacteristically soft, so unlike Boris that Yuriy almost made the younger male repeat himself just to make sure he'd heard correctly. Seeing as such a request might only anger his old friend, he settled for assuming he was in the right.

"Borya..." Yuriy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms crossed to contain his nervous tremors. "What're you tryin' so hard to hide from me?"

_'Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I don't know how to live without your guidance, or that I'm such a fucktard that I magically woke up one day and realized that you're the only reason I'm still here at all. Shit, I could say this a million different ways; which one would you prefer, Yuriy? Oh, and would you like fries with that while we're at it?'_

"What do you want me t' say?" Boris inquired, hoping to get more leeway on his captain's request.

Yuriy sighed with impatience. "I want you to tell me..." he trailed off for a moment, making sure to word his next sentence cautiously. "Borya, what do you really think of me? 'M I really such a stupid fuck for stayin' here? Didja really mean that?"

"Yuriy, that wasn't exactly what I meant by it..." Boris took a leap of faith and reached out to pull a rather surprised redhead into his arms, pressing their bodies together in a way that nearly caused the pale blue eyes of the wolf to bulge from their sockets. He placed his hand over Yuriy's cheek, the one he'd hit before the final round, and stroked it lightly with trepidation, as though fearing his touch would be rejected. As his eyes closed once more, he felt the cool touch of another hand over his own.

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Yuriy whispered, asking the question as though the words were so fragile that voicing them any louder meant certain demise.

"You're getting off-topic," Boris muttered coldly, feeling a pang of guilt at having caused the redhead so much confusion and pain. "You asked what I thought of you, right? What I really think?" a slight nod acknowledged him and he sighed into Yuriy's shirt. "I..."

"You...?"

"...I think you're amazing, Red. Always have, always will. There's just somethin' about you that...I know if you'd ever left Moscow for good, I'd have never made it. Why do I think you're such a stupid fuck? Because good people like you shouldn't ever feel like they have to waste their lives on scum like me. You were always so much better, so much more—,"

"—Stop that. Stop that immediately." Yuriy squirmed out of Boris' grip, separating himself from the falcon half-heartedly. "Before you degrade yourself any further, hear me out. Then I'll let you decide just how much better you really think I am." The older male picked up his beer and took the last swig of it, trying unsuccessfully to lubricate his throat and prepare himself for this speech of his. Admitting these words to Boris would also be the first time he'd admitted them fully to himself and it wasn't a matter to be taken lightly.

"Alright then, 'm listenin'. Go ahead."

Yuriy flicked his unruly red bangs out of his sight, making sure to hold the falcon's full concentration on his eyes. He knew Boris would be able to see if he tried to lie his way out of this confession. He couldn't allow himself to chicken-out when the omniscient stare of his oldest friend was boring directly into him.

"Borya, I've—," he looked down at his side out of nervous habit, soon forced to look up again as Boris raised his chin once more. "When you asked me earlier if I'd ever been with anyone, I told you no...And there's a pretty simple explanation for that. You think I'm a stupid fuck? You're absolutely right; I'm the dumbest son-of-a-bitch I know. Anyone else in my position would've run long ago, gotten the hell out of this city and started over as best they could. Maybe even found someone 'n gotten with them, started a family and a successful career 'n all that bullshit," Yuriy clenched his fists. "But no matter how many times I considered doing it, I couldn't—I always found one reason to stay, the same reason every single time. I swore I wouldn't leave until I knew for sure, 'n I never had the guts to say it, but—"

Boris cut in, taking the redhead firmly by the shoulders and pressing his lips to the other. Eyes wide with shock slowly melted, closing as Yuriy allowed himself to be dominated by the younger male. Although hasty, Boris' kiss was surprisingly gentle, not aggressive or violent as the wolf had predicted it would be like. The taller Russian slid his hands up to hold Yuriy's head in place, the warmth surging through them bringing the blush back to the captain's cheeks. Slowly but surely, they backed out of the dining room, abandoning the poker game and the harsh words from earlier. Abandoning years of apprehension and stupidity and territory unspoken for.

The two made their way back to the ratty blue sofa with Boris bringing Yuriy down on top of him as they fell onto the cushions. The redhead could feel heavy breathing from beneath him, Boris' whole body hot as a furnace causing his own to shiver in comparison. Their lips had not yet parted save for the purpose of allowing one another's tongues to explore, Yuriy feeling like an amateur at never having kissed another. Here he was, a twenty-three year old man, and he had the emotional and sexual maturity of a twelve-year-old _girl_. Even still, he couldn't fight the feeling that if he opened his eyes again, the moment would be gone forever and he'd be swept back into reality once more, back to a world where he was only destined to watch from afar, never allowed to touch.

Noticing the hesitation from his captain, Boris broke away from Yuriy, his hands having trapped the more nervous of the two to his chest possessively, fearing the second he might realize what he'd just done and run as far as humanly possible to get away. Despite his own fears leaking through his harsh demeanor, he kept a calm look on his face.

"So...was it worth it?"

Boris was still nose-to-nose with Yuriy, his breathing gone shallow from the weight on top of him and the dread of rejection. Yuriy sat up, redistributing his mass on Boris' hips and sinking him a little further into the couch. Perhaps this wasn't the way he imagined this would happen, but Yuriy wouldn't have traded it for the world.

_'You know, Pigeon, I always used to have reveries about the finer things in life. Even in the abbey I had delusions that one day have the nice house and the kickass sports car and a woman and maybe a kid or two. As I got older, all of those things seemed to disappear. I've replaced livin' the dream with a cramped apartment, a beat-up clunker of a vehicle, a home full of orphans, and you...and even though it's the most unlikely outcome of all the futures I could've schemed up, it never once felt wrong to me. You're a fuck-up and a menace and I'm a hopeless idiot, but I'm also a believer and I'm starting to think that's good enough for me.'_

Yuriy looked down at Boris, watching his chest rise and fall beneath his yellow t-shirt and his tendons in his neck strain as he looked up for an answer. His eyes were half-lidded, bringing the fact to light that they were both a little intoxicated, but the stone gray irises hit him in the eyes harder than rocks. There was nothing drunken about this decision; that much the wolf could be certain of.

"Yeah, Borya," his fingers slid beneath the bright fabric of Boris' shirt, tip-toeing their way from the bottom of his distended stomach up to his belly button, then advancing further to his lightly-outlined abs and strong pecks. Yuriy smiled as he felt goosebumps rise beneath his fingertips. "It really was."

_'I was always yours, Red. Always yours.'_

Boris trapped the hand beneath his shirt with his own, muttering under his breath so that his words were much too slurred to be deciphered. Yuriy scratched a spot on his chest to gain his attention.

"Wha-?"

"What'd you just say?"

The falcon released Yuriy's hand, trailing his own back down to rub his exposed stomach, which felt fairly swollen by the amount of beer he'd consumed. Yuriy's weight pressing down on it wasn't exactly helping matters either. He sighed in defeat.

"I said I don't get it. Why me?"

Bright blue eyes glistened in response.

"Why _not_ you?"

_'Why anyone else? They're not you, and they don't mean shit to me.'_

"You know 'm not all innocent 'n shit, right?"

"Did I say I was judging?"

Boris grinned, watching as the redhead shifted off his waist and slid down in the couch next to him, a thin pasty arm tossed over his broad torso.

"Never said that, Yuriy."

"Shouldn't've thought it, Borya," he retorted playfully, now tracing the sharp features of Boris' face. "I don't give a fuck. Whoever they are, they're not here now are they?"

The larger of the two snorted. "Guess not."

"Didn't think so."

Seeing that Yuriy had begun to fidget, Boris took one of his arms and wrapped it behind him, using his brute strength to pull the wolf up until his head rested comfortably in the niche of his own shoulder. His senses tingled with glee as he felt Yuriy's lips press boldly to the side of his neck, opening and sucking roughly on the skin there. The masochistic side of Boris _loved_ the feeling, reveling in the ache as though it were a rare delicacy to be savored rather than detested. The warm breath brought him chills, and for one sweet moment, he felt whole.

"God damn...that feels so..." the falcon's voice trailed off, lost amongst the mind-numbing pain.

The redhead removed his leech-like lips from Boris, a sadistic smile concealed by the shadows of the room.

"Like that, didja?" Yuriy touched the tender area with an inquisitive finger, causing Boris to flinch. It was already a fair shade of purple, one of which the wolf intended to make _much_ darker, creating a bruise that could easily take a week or more to heal. He seized the area once more; Boris' toes curled up in recoil.

"Oh _fuck_, Yuriy..."

"Sounds like an invitation."

Boris rolled a slothful eye over to meet Yuriy's gaze. He had never seen the wolf look so serious.

"Y'wanna?" he asked, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in astonishment.

_'I'll fuckin' take you right here and now, Red, just say the word.'_

"One condition."

"Whatever you want." An instantaneous reply; Boris had already given in.

Yuriy breathed into the soft spot on Boris' neck, his words ghosting over the wound with lust.

"Whatever you do, _don't_ wake me in time to get to class tomorrow."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two Footnotes<strong>

**1.** Chris "Jesus" Ferguson is one of the "greats" of the game. One of my favorite players; I have several. He's (I believe) a two-time World Series of Poker champion, having won back in the nineties. I thought using him here would be a funny reference, even though I'm pretty sure neither Yuriy nor Boris are of any religious faith.

**AN:** So, any expectations for the next chapter? Let's hear some thoughts on it! On an unrelated note, I'd just like to let all of you know that **I am currently accepting requests/stories to beta**. Feel free to shoot me a document or a request and I'll make it happen! I especially love to beta, so send me stuff!

-PD


End file.
